After spending some days in Tortuga, he had decided to move on once again. Swamp Thing went along the beach mostly this time. Usually he stuck to more of the swamp lands and streams, but he felt like more of an adventure could come from this. He had gotten a good amount of enjoyment from interacting with one pack, so he figured why not try befriending another? As long as he didn’t get into their politics, he figured there wouldn’t be much of a problem. They could entertain one another for some time, and then move on with whatever else happened in life. As well, Swamp Thing wasn’t ready to settle down yet. It would be a good idea to go around, see if he had options. Maybe if he was friendly enough and didn’t get in anyone’s way then he could go almost to any water. Plus, most of these groups were canines or cats or the sorts. They didn’t live in the water where Swamp Thing did.

After swimming for what he could guess was days, he found himself resting on a dark sandbar. The closer to he got to the mainland, the stronger the scent of a pack got. Maybe they would be friendly as well, or at least give the hellagator some entertainment for some while. Even if he was received with negative response, it would still be more fun than nothing happening. It would suck, yes, but then he could learn and grow. But he had a feeling that he wouldn’t be chased off - it didn’t cross his mind that he would actually be hard to be chased off. Swamp Thing slunk down the sandbar, towards the beach, claws digging into the sand with each step. Usually the sand under the water was dark, but not when it touched land. It interested the hellion, as he tried to scoop some up with each step.

Although he felt some hunger, he decided to refrain from fishing. Even if no one could probably put a stop, or even cared about, to his fishing, he didn’t want to come off as rude. Instead, he would lay with the water to one side of him, and the packlands to the other. The water still brushed up on his side, as with how close he stayed to the water. Even if he could stop himself from hunting, he couldn’t stop the drooping of his eyes, as he started to doze off. If anyone came across him, maybe they would leave him be, or gently wake. Then he would put out more energy, but for now, he found it was a chance to relax and getting a small break in.

Over the months Ahote had grown rather fond of the coast.
The ocean, for him, held a sort of nostalgia to it, as well as mystique.
The vast expanse of saltwater gave him something else to strive for, now that he'd reached the end of the world.
What might lie beyond that horizon?

He'd found how to take fish from the sea using altered techniques that he'd learned back in his subtropical homeland.
He had always quite enjoyed the taste of fish, and although the fish off these shores had a starkly different taste to the river fish he was used to, he still found it a much better alternative to the mammals he'd been hunting previously.

Much as he liked red meat, now that he knew wolves could talk, so to speak, could even communicate with them somewhat, he had begun to wonder whether it was the same for other beasts.
Did the bison he ate, the deer he hunted have just as much intellect?
He didn't want to entertain such an idea, but he couldn't help it.
If one was possible, then why not the other?

Perhaps the birds did as well, perhaps even the spiders in the summertime?

He didn't want to kill, much less consume, anything that held just as much thought as he.
At the same time, however, what else was he going to eat?
It wasn't as though a man could live off leaves and twigs.

Fish had always been seen as something separate, something primitive.
Maybe he'd remain fortunate enough to stave off such thoughts of speaking fish for a while longer.
Their meat always tasted so differently to the animals of the land, just as one could separate the taste of sea and sky.
Surely there had to be a reason for that?

Ahote wasn't fishing now.
No, he wasn't hungry; ever since settling into a territory, he was able to sustain himself much more than before.
The first truly full belly had even come as a shock, driving him to take ill for a few days.

Today he was enjoying the warming weather.

He was skipping rocks off the water, watching them fly across the surface before the waves consumed them.
He sighed, but smiled.
This was so much easier on a lake, a body far stiller than the riled sea.

He walked while he tossed the rocks, his gaze eventually settling on something resting in the ashen sand.
What was that--driftwood?
He drew closer at a casual pace, soon stopping when he recognized the form.

An alligator...no way--this far north?
And beside the ocean, too?
Not only that, but it was enormous!

He stared curiously at it, noting the subtle rising and falling of its sides.
He wondered...keeping a careful distance from the massive beast, the human called out a cautious, gentle greeting to it in the tongue of the Gemini wolves.